


tell them again how i got you on your knees my love (the only place of worship i believe in is between your thighs)

by i_write_shit_pls_read_it



Category: The Blacklist (US TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Keenler - Freeform, Liz and Ressler are terrible at relationships, Liz angsts over her Ressler feels, Liz is a good mother, Reddington has so many accomplices, Shower Sex, Smut, Technically canon divergent, because i ignore that one scene at the end of 6.22, but great at sex, but not as much as i'd like, but only because i'm bad at theories, i'm gonna move on now, please be nice to me, post season 6 fic, so it balances out, so much sex, this has been proofread, this is too many tags, vaguely, yeah there's gonna be a lot of these
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-04-06 12:04:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19062316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_write_shit_pls_read_it/pseuds/i_write_shit_pls_read_it
Summary: Okay new fic. Yes I know it's short but it's one in the morning and I'm very tired. Anyway, yah I’m still alive, and I have two finals due Monday I have not and do not want to work on which means you guys get a new Keenler fic. Lucky you. Why do I do this to myself. Whatever. Anyway, this fic is set post 6x22, but we’re going to pretend that scene at the end with Reddington getting drugged and grabbed didn’t happen because I’m bad at theories and it doesn’t fit into this story. But yah, anyway, the premise of this fic is basically the KGB puts a grab order out on Ressler to interrogate him about Katarina and Liz (and Red) has to save him. Then they have really hot sex because apparently I don't know how to write any other kind of story. Whatever. Enjoy.





	tell them again how i got you on your knees my love (the only place of worship i believe in is between your thighs)

Paperwork was Liz’s least favorite part of being an FBI Agent, which really sucked because it was about 80% of the job. She had in front of her an arrest report, a shooting report, and two separate incident reports, all a result of an earlier hostage situation that had ended in the apprehension of a Blacklister who targeted reservoirs and aqueducts.

Ressler, soulless bastard that he was, had just finished all of his paperwork, with his typically perfect handwriting, while Liz was still wrapping up. Watching him tidying up his desk filled her with the savage urge to stab him with her pen. He looked up to see her glaring at him, and raised his eyebrows. “What?”

“Nothing,” Liz muttered, going back to her forms.

She could practically hear him rolling his eyes at her. “Yeah, okay miss sunshine. I take it you have somewhere to be?”

Liz pursed her lips in frustration. “My usual sitter is on vacation and so I had to use a back-up, and Agnes had a bit of a cough earlier. I just want to get home and find out if she’s doing all right.”

Ressler nodded as he rolled his sleeves back down, and Liz frowned at the twinge of disappointment she felt as his forearms disappeared beneath the fabric. “How is she, anyway? Any hiccups getting her settled back in?”

Liz shook her head, unable to repress her grin at the thought of her daughter. “The biggest hoop to jump through was figuring out if she wanted to take soccer or dance lessons.”

Her partner raised his eyebrows expectantly. “And?”

“And, she is now the proud owner, of not one, but two pink tutus.”

Ressler gave a little laugh, a throaty sort of sound, and Liz’s toes involuntarily curled. “Good for her.” She waited for him to head out, but instead he loosened his tie, leaned back in his chair, pulled out his phone and started to text.

Liz frowned, tried to fight her curiosity, and failed. “Do you not have somewhere to be?”

He shrugged. “The only person waiting on me is the delivery guy at the pizza place I order from. Figured I might as well keep you company.”

Liz felt herself melt at the gesture, and pinched the skin between her thumb and index finger to force herself back to reality. She tossed up a brief ‘thanks’, and ducked her head, doing her best to finish as quickly as possible. She’d already been moving fast, desperate to get back to her apartment, but now with Ressler waiting on her, she was writing so rapidly her hand started to cramp up. She ignored it until it felt like her hand was on fire, but by that point she’d completed the forms.

Ressler looked up as she pushed her chair back. “You done?”

She nodded, suddenly feeling awkward and not sure why. All she knew was her tongue had seemingly swelled to take up her entire mouth, and all her normal replies seemed suddenly stupid and inadequate. Liz pulled her jacket on, grabbed her purse, and ducked out the door, trying not to seem like she was avoiding eye contact when she totally was. She made a beeline for the elevator but he was somehow right behind her, and when the doors closed and the lift started moving upwards, she could only pray nothing happened to make her look stupid, like her shoes squeaking or her stomach growling. The result was that she was afraid to move, and stood still as a statue for the entire ride up. She could see Ressler give her a confused look in her peripheral vision, and ignored it. When they reached the ground floor and left the building, she was fully prepared to book it over to her car, but Ressler stopped dead in his tracks, and her feet were halting before she was even aware of it.

Liz followed his gaze to a sedan parked across the street, trying to see what he saw. “What is it?”

He shook his head, looking uneasy. “It’s probably nothing, but I could swear that car was parked outside Stiles’s home yesterday.”

Liz frowned at the mention of the Blacklister. “Stiles Jermin? Are you sure?”

Ressler shrugged. “Pretty sure. Of course, it could just be your paranoia rubbing off on me.”

Ignoring the dig, Liz reached into her purse for a notepad and binoculars, thrusting the former at Ressler and holding up the latter. “Take this.” He immediately sensed where she was going, and pulled out a pen as she read out the license plate. She lowered the binoculars, shoving it and the pad back in her purse. “If we see them again tomorrow we’ll run the plates, and if not, we can schedule you an appointment with a psychiatrist.”

“Haha,” Ressler said sarcastically, but Liz could tell he was more relaxed. She realized she was also more relaxed, and couldn’t for the life of her remember why she’d been so eager to flee only moments before.

But then he looked up at her with a cautious little smile, and her spine seized up and she remembered. “Anyway, I have to run. Drive safely.”

“Keen hang on a second.”

Silently cursing herself for being a coward, she pretended not to hear him, pretending to look for something in her purse as she headed towards her car, both relieved and disappointed when he didn’t call after her.

***

Liz pulled her Thai food out of the microwave right before the timer went off, not wanting to wake her daughter. One of the consequences of living with a toddler meant she had to actually buy groceries and cook healthy food (something Liz was sorely out of practice at), but she still kept microwavable meals in the freezer for nights like tonight, when work had been exhausting and Agnes was asleep. Her shoes long-gone, Liz grabbed a water cup, made her way over to the couch and kicked her feet up, sorely missing her bottles of tequila. Another sacrifice to being a mother.

Liz stabbed her blackened chicken with a fork and shoved it in her mouth, immediately regretting all of her life decisions when her tongue suffered third-degree burns from the action. She hastily swallowed and threw back some water, tears forming in her eyes.

Somehow she found herself wondering how Ressler’s dinner was going. He’d mentioned pizza, and had probably gotten that disgusting ‘Big Mike’ flavor he loved so much. Cheese pizza with pepperoni, mushrooms, garlic, and pesto toppings. A couple weeks ago, she’d been over at his apartment late one night to work a case, and tried a slice. She had taken one bite and promptly spat it back onto her plate, causing him to laugh so hard he nearly choked on his own piece. As a result, Liz had very loudly and pointedly ordered Chinese food, glaring at him the whole time. Ah, well. At least they were both in agreement that pineapple should be nowhere near a pizza. She may have had to request a transfer to a different unit. The memory brought a slight grin to her face.

Liz caught herself smiling, but alone in her apartment, she didn’t fight it. Instead, she let herself reflect on how Ressler had made her smile a lot lately. It was a nice feeling, knowing there was someone who could make you happy. Unfortunately, there was also the lovely fact that seeing him smile these days tended to make her heart do this stupid little pitter-patter thing, and the general sight of him made her mouth a little dry. Especially today when he’d been working with that concentrated frown on his face and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows; also, the mere memory of him in any non-suit clothes, but especially those dark sweaters he was so fond of, had the inconvenient habit of getting her all hot and bothered, but Liz had absolutely no idea what was up with that.

Okay, so maybe she had a very vague idea, but the thought of her being attracted to Donald Ressler of all people was far too discomfiting for Liz to even begin to fathom.

To distract herself, Liz took another bite of her too-hot chicken, swearing quietly at the harsh burn, and hoping her tongue didn’t mutiny. Once the pain died down however, she was somehow right back to thinking about Ressler. Liz pulled her phone out of her pocket and frowned at the device, wondering whether she should call him. It wasn’t like she had a good excuse to call him – “you want to hear his voice” whispered something (probably her sex drive) in the back of her head – and he might think it was weird. On the other hand, maybe Ressler was in his own apartment, eating that disgusting pizza, staring at his own phone and wondering if he should call her. Liz set down her fork and phone, grabbed a pillow from the side of the couch, pressed her face into the fabric and screamed very quietly.

Her face was hot when she finished, and her eyes immediately went back to her phone. Maybe she should just flush it down the toilet to save herself from the potential humiliation if she actually did call him. Liz had called him after hours before, sure, but always about work-related things, and one time at two in the morning to warn him Reddington was about to drop by his apartment to borrow a bottle opener. He had nastily suggested some places Red could shove said-bottle opener and hung up, but thanked her for the heads-up the next morning. The point was, she couldn’t just call him out of nowhere for no reason. ‘You could pretend to be drunk,’ her sex drive whispered. “Go away,” she snapped at it.

Realizing she was officially talking to herself, Liz shoved another bite of dinner in her mouth, but it had cooled off by now and did not have the desired effect. Liz glared at the phone, mentally running through potential scenarios. What was she even hoping to get out of this conversation? She wasn’t entirely certain what she wanted from Ressler, but she knew it was more than just a one-night stand. How would that even work, she’d just leave her daughter in the middle of the night and drive across town for a quick screw with her partner?

‘Or he could come here and you could both be very quiet,’ her sex drive – which she decided to dub Horny Liz – muttered helpfully. Liz fought the urge to scream again.

Hating herself for it the whole time, Liz found herself thumbing through her phone, going to her starred contacts. She stared at Ressler’s number, and the picture of a stick standing upright in mud that she’d used for his profile photo. She’d thought it was hysterical at the time, Ressler had been decidedly less amused. Her thumb hovered over the call button, as Liz tried to think of more reasons not to do it, already knowing she’d call, and already knowing she’d regret it in the morning or possibly in ten minutes depending on how badly it went. What if he didn’t even answer? Maybe she could say Agnes had got ahold of her phone while she was in the shower. Maybe he would be taking a shower, and that’s why he wouldn’t answer, assuming he didn’t answer. Then her train of thought was entirely derailed by thoughts of Ressler in the shower, so that when her phone suddenly started ringing she flung it to the other side of the couch in surprise.

When her brain caught up a second later, Liz swore and dug through the cushions, blinking when she saw it was Ressler calling. “Okay, now that’s just spooky,” she said aloud. ‘Or maybe it’s fate,’ Horny Liz piped up. “Shut up,” she snarled, and answered before she could change her mind.

Liz steeled herself. “Hello?”

“Keen?”

“Yeah, what’s up?” Very good. Completely casual.

There was silence on the other end, and she briefly wondered if she was imagining the whole thing. “Nothing much. What are you doing right now?”

‘Picturing you naked,’ Horny Liz whispered. Liz felt her cheeks flare up and tried to resist smacking herself. “Finishing up dinner. Did you need something?” Great, make it sound like you’re irritated with him for calling.

“No, no just… calling to check in?” His voice went up at the end, like he wasn’t sure of the answer. “Forget it, I should probably go.”

“Off to eat that disgusting Big Mike’s pizza you love so much?” Liz couldn’t resist asking.

“Excuse me,” she could hear the offense in his voice, “but it’s at least three times as good as that veggie crap you get on pizzas.”

She grinned. “I mean, that’s a blatant lie, but you’re entitled to your wrong opinion.”

“You get bell peppers, Keen. Bell peppers do not belong on a pizza,” he deadpanned.

“Oh, but cloves of garlic do?”

“More than spinach does.”

She laughed despite herself, and heard his answering chuckle across the line. He had a gravelly sort of laugh, one that every time she heard it all she could think about was how it might sound first thing in the morning. Suddenly she wanted very badly to know what Ressler in general was like in the morning, she wanted to wake up with him next to her and hear his gravelly laugh and see his tousled hair. She had no idea what he looked like after just waking up, but she had an active imagination.

‘He probably looks like sex on steroids,’ Horny Liz said breathily.

“Don’t start with me,” she groaned, realizing too late she’d spoken out loud.

Ressler’s laughter cut off. “Is someone over there?” he asked, and she could hear how carefully neutral his tone had gone. Liz knew there were very few reasons someone would be in her apartment at this time of night, and she could probably guess which one Ressler suspected.

“No, I’ve just started talking to myself.” She tried to keep her tone light, but it somehow came out sounding defensive, and oh great, now he probably thought there really was someone else in her apartment and that she was trying to hide it.

“Right.” His tone was significantly colder than it had just been, and Liz kicked herself. “This was a bad idea, I should go.”

What was a bad idea, Liz wanted to ask. But instead what came out was, “Why did you call me?” When no answer was forthcoming, Liz was afraid he might’ve hung up already, but she checked the phone and saw he was still on the line. “Ressler. Why did you call me in the middle of the night?”

There was a sigh. “I don’t know Keen,” he confessed.

She shook her head. “That’s not a good enough answer.”

“It’s the only one I have.”

Liz was entirely aware her partner wasn’t the most adept man at dealing with his emotions, but couldn’t bring herself to let this go. “Did you want to talk to me?”

“Keen I-”

The sound of something breaking and Ressler’s exclamation of ‘what the hell’ burst through the phone. “Ressler?” Liz could hear people shouting in Russian in the background, and noticed at some point she had stood up. “Ressler, talk to me what’s happening.” She could hear some sort of fight on the other end of the line, and everything in her screamed to grab her car keys and floor it until she got to her partner’s apartment, but she knew whoever it was would be long gone by the time she arrived. “Ressler!”

The other end of the call became eerily silent, but Liz could hear footsteps growing closer. She was clenching her phone so hard she thought it might break. “Who are you?” The voice was older and male, with a thick Russian accent.

“I’m Special Agent Elizabeth Keen with the FBI, now who the hell are you and what have you done with my partner,” she demanded.

There was a happy sort of laughter. “Ah, Masha Rostova.” Everything in Liz froze up at her birth name. “We have much to talk about with your partner. Who knows, you may even thank us one day. I believe it goes without saying if you go to anyone else at the FBI, we will kill him. Have a nice evening.”

“No wait–”

The line went dead, and Liz swallowed back her words, her entire body practically shaking with rage and fear. Her lungs seemed to forget how to function, and all she could hear were Ressler’s last few words playing over and over again in her head. “Keen I – Keen I – Keen I.” Her mouth opened up as Liz struggled to draw breath, and she was seized with a fury so all-encompassing she damn near saw stars, as she was seized with the urge to grab her glass and hurl it at the wall.

“Mommy?” Liz whirled around to see Agnes standing behind her in a cupcake nightgown, holding a stuffed unicorn as she rubbed at her eyes. Her heart melted. “Why you yellin’?”

Liz rushed over and wrapped her daughter in a hug, heart hammering against her ribs. She pulled back, brushing Agnes’ hair out of her eyes, and pulled on her most calming smile, doing her best to exude peace and confidence. “One of mommy’s friends is in a little bit of trouble, and I got upset about it. I’m sorry I woke you up, but I’ll make sure I’m quieter I promise.”

Agnes sneezed, but nodded, and turned around to totter back to bed. Liz walked over to pull the door shut behind her, and immediately walked back over to grab her phone, dialing the number she could always call in times of crisis. He answered on the second ring. “Elizabeth, what’s wrong?”

“It’s Ressler.”

***

Reddington and Dembe showed up twelve minutes later with a kindly looking woman – who was no doubt armed to the teeth – in tow to watch over Agnes, and a considerably less kindly looking lady carrying a laptop. Liz had filled them him in on most of the details already, but was now forced to do the same again to the woman who Red introduced as simply Ella. Ella’s entire face was covered in an intricate skull tattoo and she sounded like she smoked six packs a day, but if she could help them locate Ressler, then Liz might very well write her into her will.

“How are you going to find him?” she demanded, as soon as Ella was brought up to speed on Ressler’s efforts to track down Katarina. Considering the KGB grunt Ressler had tussled with recently, the man on the phone’s reference to her as Masha, and the fact that the men on the phone were Russian it wasn’t too far of a leap to her to think this was related. Reddington agreed.

“How about you shut up and let me work?” Ella sniped, sounding annoyed.

Liz actually growled at her, but Red put a restraining hand on her shoulder. “Ella’s sense of social graces regrettably falls far short of the acceptable norm. What say you and I make a cup of tea while she works her magic?”

Liz ground her teeth so hard she was afraid they might turn to dust, but eventually nodded, and walked over with Red to the kitchen.

Red filled a kettle and set it on the stove, and promptly set to bemoaning her tea selection, which he often took it upon himself to keep stocked. In Liz’s opinion, the moment he had taken up responsibility for it he had forfeited his right to complain, but Reddington apparently did not share this belief.

She answered all of his dreadfully intricate questions with either a no, or a glare, and when the kettle started whistling, he cast her a rather benign look before removing it. “My dear Lizzy, everything about tonight’s events is doubtless going to be explained soon enough, but do tell me: exactly what were you and Ressler doing conversing on the phone at such a late hour?”

Liz took a very long breath, and puffed out her cheeks as she exhaled. “Just… talking.”

“Hmm.” Reddington did not look impressed. “About anything in particular?”

Liz shrugged, turning her focus to wiping an imaginary spot off the counter. “Work stuff. Why do you ask?”

Red snorted. “Why do I ask? Elizabeth, I’ve been waiting for you two to stop dancing around your feelings for each other for roughly six years now, and you want to know why I’m asking what you’re talking about in the middle of the night? I’m curious.”

Liz’s mouth opened and closed several times. “Excuse me?” she finally managed.

He frowned. “Oh, I’m sorry, was I unclear? You and Donald Ressler are in love with each other, which is made infinitely worse by the fact that you’re both annoyingly oblivious to it.”

Liz shook her head back and forth, entering a next-level phase of denial. “I am not in love with Ressler, and he is not in love with me,” she protested.

Red looked irritated, and a bit condescending. “Elizabeth, I have witnessed many couples in my lifetime. Having watched you from afar since you were a little girl, those include all of your relationships, and I don’t think you quite comprehend how rare it is to find what you have with him, and he with you. Someone who loves you, unconditionally, who accepts you, cares about your safety. Who is honest with you. Surely you, of all people, can appreciate what it’s like to have someone honest love you. Because he does love you, which you must know by now. Even if you can’t accept that he is in love with you, you must know that he loves you. I can count on one hand the number of times I have seen a man love a woman with as much, fervid determination, as Ressler loves you, and so Lizzy I’m sorry, but if you don’t realize this, then your skills as a profiler are being vastly underutilized.”

Liz’s thoughts were spinning faster than a two-dollar top. “You’re saying Ressler’s in love with me.”

“Elizabeth, I’m saying he’s drowning faster than a man dropped in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.”

“I found him.”

Grateful for the distraction, Liz turned to see Ella motioning them over. “How?” she demanded.

“Well sweet cheeks, I’d love to tell you but that would make you an accessory, and then you’d probably lose that nice shiny badge of yours.”

Exercising all of the self-restraint she possessed, Liz somehow refrained from smothering Ella. “You’ve found him? You’re positive?”

Ella shrugged, and more tattoos peaked out from under her shirt. “I mean, I’m fairly sure, but what do I know. Not like I do this for a living or anything. Oh, wait.”

“Okay, I get it,” Liz snapped, eager to get the information and be on her way. “Where is he?”

Ella rattled off an address, and Liz turned to the other woman whom Red had introduced as Mary Poppins. She was almost sure he was joking. “You’ll hold down the fort?” Mary nodded. “If Agnes wakes up and can’t fall back asleep, sing her a lullaby. I normally do them in Russian, but assuming you don’t speak that, Twinkle Twinkle Little Star should be fine.” She turned to Red. “Are we good to go?”

He was already putting his hat and coat back on. “Dembe will drive, I’ll call Tiny on the way and have him meet us there with backup.”

Liz shoved her gun into her holster and grabbed a jacket. “Please tell me his name is ironically Tiny, and he’s really seven feet of pure muscle.”

***

Tiny was, in fact, four feet two inches and spoke only broken English. Red claimed he more than made up for it. His partner Muscles, however, was seven and a half feet tall and more ripped than Dwayne Johnson. They were in the company of roughly a dozen of Red’s paramilitary forces, and Liz found herself wildly grateful for the fact that Reddington had a small army. If they managed to get her partner out of there alive, she’d insist they all get raises.

“Got it.”

Tiny had finished threading a camera through one of the windows, and held up a small computer screen that showcased the inside of the building. The picture was black and white, and Liz didn’t like what she was seeing. Two men were standing guard with easily visible assault rifles and a half a dozen handguns each; two more were sitting at a table, smoking and playing cards. But it was the three men in the middle that had Liz seeing red. One was tilting back a chair so that the person tied to it was practically parallel to the ground, their face covered in a washcloth. The third was pouring the contents of a massive water cooler over the man in the chair, who Liz knew without a doubt was her partner.

“We have to get in there,” she breathed.

“Patience, Lizzy,” Red muttered.

“Patience?” Liz hissed, furious. “They’re waterboarding him.”

“And they’ll kill him if we do this wrong,” he reminded her. “Just a couple more minutes.”

Trying to regain control of her breathing, Liz refused to look away from the screen, struggling not to remember her own experience with this particular interrogation method. It made her lungs constrict just thinking about it.

After another half minute, the men put the water cooler down and set the chair upright, yanking the washcloth off Ressler’s face.

Liz couldn’t help her slight gasp at the sight of him. There was a difference between knowing Ressler was being tortured, and actually seeing his face as he hacked up water. His shoulders were shaking with the force of his coughs, and his long-sleeved button-down was soaked through. His feet were bare, he was probably freezing.

Liz closed her eyes, unable to stand it, trying to control her breathing.

“Now.”

Liz yanked out her gun as someone cut the power to the building. The men inside all started yelling, and immediately pulled on night vision goggles. They all lined up next to the door, and one of the men tossed a flashbang through the window. The explosion of light lit up the screen, effectively blinding the men as the power was restored and Liz and Red and the others all rushed in.

The smell of gunpowder filled the room as bullets started flying, taking out the two guards as well as the backup at the table. Liz made straight for the chair where Ressler was looking around, appearing slightly dazed. She shot one of the men next to him twice in the chest, and someone else shot the other in the shoulder, causing him to fall with a cry. Muscles came up to grab him, and zip-tied his hands in front of him as Liz leaned down in front of Ressler. “Ress, are you all right?” She brought her hands up to gently cup his face, trying to make him meet her eyes.

Ressler blinked a few times, his gaze slightly unfocused. “Liz,” he muttered. “Your mother. They were looking for your mother.”

She nodded, pulling out a switchblade as she started slicing through his restraints. “I don’t care about that, are you okay?”

He nodded, but stared coughing again, a heaving motion that shook his entire upper body. “I’m fine.”

Liz scowled. “Liar,” she snapped.

“I’ve had worse,” he insisted, as Tiny came over.

He shooed Liz away, and she raised her eyebrows at him. What the hell could he do? Seeming to read her mind, Tiny pointed to himself. “Is okay. Am doctor.”

Liz pursed her lips, but reluctantly stepped aside, allowing him to check out Ressler as Reddington approached. She walked over to meet him. “How is he?” Red asked, keeping his voice low.

Liz inhaled through her teeth. “He’ll survive,” she allowed.

The two of them headed over as Tiny finished giving Ressler an appraisal, and Liz slung his arm around her shoulders as she pulled him up. “Dees one is tough,” Tiny announced. “But needs watching for this night. Have family?”

“I can watch him,” Liz immediately volunteered.

Ressler shook his head, protesting. “No, Keen, you’ve got Agnes to worry about.”

“Agnes wasn’t tortured for three hours, I think she’ll understand,” Liz snapped.

“If I may interrupt?” Liz did not like Reddington’s suggestive tone. “Mary Poppins would be more than happy to look after Agnes until morning, and take her to school if necessary.”

Liz gave Ressler her best ‘I-told-you-so’ face, and he shrugged, seemingly too tired to bother arguing the matter further. He leaned on her heavily as they walked outside, and she could feel him fighting back shivers. When Dembe arrived at the car soon after, pulling keys out of his pocket, Liz and Ressler climbed into the back, and Liz found herself cursing the lack of blankets as she turned on the seat warmers and asked Dembe to up the heater.

He left without a word when they reached Ressler’s building. Her partner now somewhat more capable of standing by himself, but still kept an arm around her shoulders as they walked past the doorman. Liz nudged the elevator button with her hip, and it arrived fairly quickly all things considered.

She kept nervous eyes on him all the way to the sixth floor, where he stumbled slightly upon exiting the elevator. Liz tightened her grip, shoulders starting to ache slightly, as she steered Ressler over to his apartment. He fumbled with his keys for a moment before remembering someone had kicked down the door earlier that night, muttering uncomplimentary things about Russians as he shoved it open.

He dropped the keys in some sort of pottery bowl on a small armoire, and let go of Liz before kicking off his shoes. He leaned against the wall and looked over at her, grimacing as he undid the laces. “Not that I don’t appreciate the help Keen, but I can take it from here.”

Liz raised her eyebrows impassively as she shut the door. “Sorry, doctor’s orders. I’m supposed to observe you, make sure you don’t drop dead.”

Ressler scowled, that familiar fight rising up in him. “I don’t need a babysitter,” he insisted.

Liz calmly folded her arms. “I’m glad to hear it, because I already have one toddler, and I’m in no hurry to enlarge that number.”

Ressler glared at Liz, and Liz glared right back. Eventually his exhaustion won out, and he acquiesced with a stony expression. Jerking his head at her, he headed towards the living room, and she followed. He waved a vague hand towards a door in the middle of the hallway. “You can crash on the couch, I have some spare blankets.”

Liz nodded, sitting on said couch to pull off her shoes as Ressler started unbuttoning his damp shirt. “I’m taking a shower, there should be pizza in the fridge if you’re hungry.”

She snorted. “Like I’d ever eat that crap you call pizza.”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” Ressler called, and she barely caught his grin before he shut the bathroom door behind him.

Liz waited until she heard the water turn on, before heading over to the door he’d indicated earlier. She pulled out three blankets and two pillows, and proceeded to fashion a makeshift bed on top of his couch. She was fluffing the pillows when Reddington called.

“Hello?”

“Elizabeth! Have you kissed him yet?”

Liz nearly dropped the phone in surprise, cheeks heating up like a furnace. “Reddington!”

“What?” His tone was infuriatingly blasé.

“You can’t just – of course we haven’t – of course I haven’t – ugh!” She buried her face in her hands.

Red sighed over the phone. “Honestly Lizzy, must I walk you through it? You’re alone in his apartment, both overly emotional, and neither are leaving until tomorrow morning at the earliest. I think it would be quite prudent for you to take full advantage of the next eight or so hours.”

Liz wouldn’t have been surprised if there was actual steam coming out of her ears. “I am not going to proposition Ressler after he’s just been tortured. Now have you gotten anything out of that footman or not?”

“Not yet, but Brimley’s working on it.”

“Then goodbye.” Liz hung up the phone, and glanced suspiciously over to the bathroom, worried Ressler may have somehow developed the hearing of a bat. When there was no movement on the other side of the door, Liz tugged her socks and jacket off, and laid down on the couch, trying to regain a normal core body temperature. She tucked her knees up to her chest, taking in her surroundings. The last time she’d been in Ressler’s apartment, they’d been interrogating a fake pregnant drug mule, and she hadn’t exactly had time to look around.

Ressler always kept his cards close to the vest at work, but she’d assumed at home he was different. Apparently she was wrong, because the decorations were just about Spartan. There were no family photographs, no colorful magnets on the fridge, no calendars on the wall. Feeling a bit like an intruder, Liz stood and walked around, rubbing her arms, trying to find some sort of personality within the walls. There were three different potted cacti on a windowsill, the blankets from the closet were all the same brand. His bookshelf was full of works on atheism, feminism, and a history of corruption in the FBI, and there was a spare gun next to the television.

Liz slid the safety back on, and realized she’d been snooping for nearly half an hour now, and the water was still running. “Is he trying to drown himself in there?” Liz muttered, not entirely sure she wanted to hear the answer. She walked over and knocked on the bathroom door. “Ressler? You okay?” Liz winced as her voice echoed loudly in the stillness of the apartment.

When there was no answer, she knocked again. “I’m coming in,” she warned.

She pulled the door open, and a curtain of steam blew out. When it dissipated, she saw Ressler still fully clothed, standing in front of the open shower, an ill look on his face. It suddenly hit her, and she couldn’t believe how stupid she’d been. “Ressler?” Liz spoke softly, being careful not to spook him. After her bout with Luther Braxton, she hadn’t been able to shower for a week, choosing instead to use washcloths and spare herself the additional trauma. She reached out to turn the showerhead off but Ressler grabbed her hand.

“No, don’t.” His voice was slightly hoarse.

“Ressler, you can shower tomorrow.”

She kept her tone gentle, but he shook his head, and licked his lips before speaking. “It’s stupid, I should be able to take a damn shower.”

“You just underwent a traumatic experience, it’s perfectly normal for you–”

“Don’t profile me Keen,” he snapped.

“I’m trying to help,” she shot back, before taking a deep breath. “Ressler, look at me.” He blinked rapidly, but kept his gaze fixed on the streams of hot water. She gripped his chin between her fingers, careful not to squeeze too hard, and turned him to face her. “Ressler.”

He reluctantly met her gaze, and Liz could see how much this was killing him, to appear vulnerable before her. Her heart broke for him. “Tell me what you need,” she whispered.

His eyes darkened, and Liz felt the air between them tighten like a rope stretched too thin. “You,” he choked out, and then suddenly he was kissing her.

Liz gasped aloud, kissing him back before she was even conscious of it. Her eyes closed as his lips pressed hot and searing against hers, and dear God she’d been kissed by men before but never like this. Never like they thought they might die if she stopped. So she didn’t stop.

Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, her stomach filling with butterflies at the feel of broad muscles and scarred skin beneath the fabric. His large hands moved to her hips, dipping beneath her shirt to flatten against her back and waist, his touch scorching. Liz dragged her hands forward to undo his buttons, her blood singing with a frantic need. She opened her eyes to look at him, and saw his own gaze locked on her face, full of heat.

Liz pushed the shirt off, and slid her hands down to the button of his jeans, feeling the kind of pleasure that comes only from pleasing those you love as his eyes fell half-shut. She didn’t care right now about teasing him, or drawing anything out, all that mattered right now was that she be touching as much of Ressler as was humanly possible as soon as she could. Liz opened the button and unzipped his pants, bringing his boxers down with them as she dropped to her knees. “Damn it Liz,” Ressler swore, and grabbed for the towel rack as her mouth came down, his head falling back against the bathroom wall as she began using her tongue on him. His hands moved to knot in her hair, and she used her own hands to grip his thighs, scraping with her nails as she focused her mouth on the tip.

She could feel him getting closer to the end, but suddenly Ressler was gripping her by the shoulders and pulling her up, chest heaving as her eyes met his, and then his gaze dropped lower, to her lips that were wet from him. His throat bobbed as he lifted his thumb to gently trace her bottom lip, and Liz actually went light-headed. He ducked his head down to ghost their lips together, holding back from kissing her as much as she’d like as he explained why he’d stopped her. “I want to be in you the first time.”

His voice was half-growl half-groan, and it was without a doubt the sexiest thing anyone had ever said to her. It was all Liz could do to nod, and then his capable hands, the hands that had saved her and cuffed her and held her, were tugging her shirt off. Her bra quickly followed, and Ressler’s wonderful, perfect hands cupped her breasts and Liz inhaled sharply, going weak in the knees.

He finally, finally leaned down to kiss her again, and Liz leaned into it greedily, afraid that this was all somehow a hallucination or a dream, and any second her alarm would go off or Agnes would call for her and she’d wake up. She dug her nails into his chest, determined to prove to herself that he was real.

Sometime between one breath and the next, Ressler leaned down to drag off her own pants and purple underwear, and all Liz could think was thank God she’d worn a clean pair. He came back up to keep kissing her, and slowly moved them both backwards, hitching her up so that Liz was on the bathroom counter, next to the sink, and then Ressler got down on his knees and pressed kisses to the inside of her thigh, right near the center of her legs.

Liz placed one hand behind her for balance and the other in his hair, gripping the blond strands as his mouth moved closer to where she most desired. Unfortunately, Liz may not have been in the mood to tease, but Ressler apparently was. His kisses were hard and fast, but never where she wanted, always circling and creeping closer. At last, he came so close that her thighs clenched up and he actually blew on the spot, before moving further away once more.

Her fingers fisted in his hair. “Ressler,” Liz warned, her tone slightly less threatening thanks to the fact that his head was between her thighs. He looked up at her, eyes still tormented, but now slightly amused, and then returned to doing God’s work at the juncture of her thighs.

Without warning, he licked a hot stripe up her center and Liz cried out, her back arching and muscles tightening in pleasure. His teeth closed around that one spot he’d been avoiding, now over-sensitive from simulation, and Liz struggled to breathe, her vocabulary reduced to “oh my god,” and “don’t stop,” and “oh, Ressler!”

Just as she was about to reach her own end point he stopped, and Liz actually moaned in disappointment. She glared down at him, feeling betrayed, but her words died on her tongue at his intense stare. He stood, leaning into her, but suddenly drew back, a sort of clarity dawning on his face.

“The condoms are in the bedroom,” he muttered, pressing light kisses to her jaw.

In addition to an IUD, Liz got shots every three months, and so she shook her head. “I’m clean. Are you clean?” He nodded, so she pressed her lips beneath his ear and smiled as his grip tightened on her waist, enough that there would probably be fingerprint shaped bruises there in the morning. “Then I’ve got it handled.”

She slid down off the sink, using her hands to keep him ready, and stepped into the shower, pulling him along.

Ressler froze, turning to stone beneath her hands, as he eyed the water apprehensively. Feeling the sprays lap gently at her ankles, Liz gently placed her hands on his shoulders. “Hey. Trust me.” His cheeks were flushed with color, his eyes bright. If Liz didn’t know better, she might think he had a fever. “Just focus on me, it’ll be all right.”

She stepped back into the shower, and Ressler stepped forward after her, his body going rigid at the feel of the water. Liz went on her tip toes to kiss him again, still gripping tightly to his shoulders, and bit down softly on his bottom lip. His body relaxed beneath her touch, and then he was gathering her up in his arms and pushing her back against the wall. The chill of the tile was such a sharp departure from the heat of his touch, that she couldn’t help but giggle at the sensation.

Ressler smiled against her lips, and she cautiously moved a hand away from his shoulder. When he didn’t tense up, she let it drift lower, until she was able to wrap her fingers around him and stroke.

He groaned, and then moved his own hand down to her thigh, hitching her leg up around him and thrusting into her.

Liz dropped her head down and bit into his shoulder to muffle her cries, clutching at him as he pulled back and drove into her again and again. He moved the hand not on her leg to where they joined together, and started gently stroking with his fingers where his mouth had been earlier, and the resulting combination caused Liz to come apart with a loud moan, her head falling back.

Her muscles contracted, and then a deeply intense pleasure dissolved throughout her body, making her vision go hazy. Meanwhile, Ressler kept moving, and she kept moaning, and then his hand came up and landed on the wall right next to her head, and he kissed her insistently as he hit his own end.

Eventually, they somehow managed to make it to his bedroom, leaving a trail of wet footprints behind them, and Liz ended up not crashing on the couch. She did, however, wake up, to Ressler’s mouth laving circles around her breasts.

“Oh, God.” Liz’s breath started coming in short pants as Ressler looked up at her, seeming to have regained his good humor.

“Actually, I prefer to go by Ressler.”

Liz narrowed her eyes at him, lips twitching. “How did you ever become an FBI agent when you clearly had such a promising career as a standup comedian?”

“Financial stability,” he grinned, before returning his mouth to its previous occupation.

Liz hummed in pleasure, sinking contentedly into the pillows. His kisses moved to the valley between her breasts, and his thumbs came up to brush over her nipples, sending pleasurable shudders racking through Liz’s body. Desperately hoping he wouldn’t stop, but also knowing he probably would, Liz asked what she should’ve asked last night. “Tell me this won’t be just a one-time thing,” she begged, fingers curled in the blankets.

His attention distracted, Ressler removed his mouth from her chest, and she quickly drew the sheets up over herself. “A one-time thing?” he repeated.

Liz pursed her lips, weighing the pros and cons of honesty, before deciding it was the least she owed him. “It’s just that I know you weren’t in a great place last night, but I’m just a little bit crazy about you and I really don’t think I could handle it if this was a one and done sort of situation, you know? I’ll understand if it is, if that’s all you want, but I just–”

Ressler interrupted her with a kiss, wrapping a hand around the back of her neck and threading his fingers through her hair. He pressed his forehead against hers when he broke away. “I don’t want this to be a one-time thing either,” he assured her.

If someone had held a gun to Liz’s head at that moment, and told her to pick the moment in the world she’d been happiest, this would’ve been it. With heartbreaking gentleness, he brushed her hair out of her face, and the words were out of Liz’s mouth before she knew what she was saying. “God I love the way you look at me.”

Ressler smiled, that playful little half-smile she’d seen across their desks a thousand different times, but never like this. “Well if you’d like, I could look at all of you.”

Her throat tightening with happiness, Liz nodded, and he pulled the sheet off of her before kissing her again. Ressler pulled her body up into him, his fingers tracing invisible patterns on her skin, and Liz couldn’t hold back her grin when she saw a bruise on his shoulder that looked suspiciously like a bite mark.

She had wondered last night what she wanted from Ressler, when really the answer should’ve been obvious.

She wanted to be his partner.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I know this fic is horrible. Move on. I have an idea for my next fic, but it would have to be from Ressler's POV. Would you guys be interested? Let me know if you have any specific requests. High school AU, canon divergent, fucking office Christmas party, whatever. Okay not the last one, I'm really bad at light-hearted stuff so the party would probably get taken hostage or something.  
> Follow me on twitter @writer_gen


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